


when you take me there

by mandyfuckinmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Fic, choppy as fuck, me attempting ian pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandyfuckinmilkovich/pseuds/mandyfuckinmilkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders if he looks different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you take me there

The first time, he makes a promise.

It’s new and terrifying and a blur of colors. Everything else is drowned out except Mickey on his back, Mickey opening his legs, Mickey clawing at his skin.

He makes this sound and then Mickey’s hand is over his mouth to keep him quiet. Ian grits his teeth and his hands press Mickey’s hips into the bed, holding him still. Mickey doesn’t look at him, turns his face to the side and blinks before closing his eyes, breathing raggedly into the wall. Ian pants desperately against Mickey’s hand. He wants so many things he can’t put words to.

But he knows how the story goes.

He doesn’t say it was great, even though it was.

He doesn’t say he’s surprised, even though he really kind of fucking is.

"I won’t tell." Is all he promises and Mickey nods next to him, gripping the blankets around his waist, not making any promises of his own, just staring straight ahead. Silent and stiff and wide blue eyes.

He won’t tell and he won’t think about it and he won’t feel different.

Mickey tosses the gun on the bed, rubs at his bottom lip and Ian stares at it as he leans in, smells beer and dirt and Mickey looks away from him.

He won’t put names to things he wants. The story doesn’t allow it.

He steps out of the house and breathes in the cold and the wet smell of snow and thinks the world looks a little different.

//

He texts Mickey when it’s slow at work, he texts Mickey when he’s bored at school, he texts Mickey when the house is empty.

His phone always remains silent. Mickey always shows up.

//

The heater in the van doesn’t work and Mickey’s fingertips are freezing, his cheek is scratchy against Ian’s. There’s a new cut on his mouth and Ian would inspect further but Mickey frowns when he stares for too long.

"Fucking hurry up," Mickey breathes out, a little whine to his voice, and Ian grins, taking his time, slowing it down, running his hands over Mickey’s waist, around his back.

"Gallagher," he bites out and digs his fingernails into Ian’s hip.

Ian laughs and Mickey yanks his hair, biting his neck and shoulder.

That feeling wells up within his chest and Ian cups Mickey’s throat, thumb stroking his chin and he moves against him faster, staring at his mouth.

Mickey’s fingertips are freezing and Ian wants nothing more than to warm them up.

//

Mickey doesn’t talk about things that matter. Ian feels like he never shuts up. He’ll look over at Mickey and catch him listening, catch him smiling a little bit. Catch him watching Ian.

"What are you thinking?" Ian asks him.

"Nothin’".

"You’re a bad liar."

"Yeah, alright," he grins and drinks from his beer and watches Ian still.

//

He wonders if he looks different. He comes home with messy hair and red cheeks, his mouth pulled into a wide grin and Fiona just points to the leftovers in the fridge while she highlights the job listings in the paper. He thinks he sounds different, constantly breathless, constantly grinning, constantly wandering around.

Lip is upstairs in the room, frowning up at the ceiling, smoke curling out of his mouth. He doesn’t look at Ian when he flings himself on to his mattress.

Ian wonders if he looks like Lip. Like he’s lost and found and sad and happy.

"Doesn’t make sense does it?" Lip thrives on shit making sense. He likes answers and facts and showing your work and how to get from point A to point Z.

But this stuff doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t add up neatly, it doesn’t add up at all. Karen’s messy and Lip doesn’t know how to make sense of any of it.

"Is it even worth it?"

Yes, Ian answers silently to the ceiling. Mickey’s a mess too. Ian doesn’t want to make sense of it. He just wants all of it no matter what it is.

//

Mickey shows him short cuts on his geometry homework and Ian for the life of him doesn’t understand it.

"How do you know this shit?"

Mickey smirks and tosses the protractor aside, drawing an almost perfect 78 degree angle. “I use my eyes dipshit.”

Ian glares, pushes him away and listens to Mickey laugh through the store.

After they lock up, Mickey fists his hands into Ian’s shirt and pants against his mouth. He hooks his ankles around Ian’s legs and Ian tastes sugar from the donuts Mickey swipes during the slow times of the day.

"Ian," he moans brokenly against his throat and Ian pulls him closer and tries to use his eyes but is blinded by the stars in Mickey’s.

//

Ian walks around school and work and his house and it all feels different, like he’s growing out of it, like it doesn’t belong to him as it once did.

He walks down the street at midnight with Mickey, bumping shoulders and laughing and brushing his knuckles against Mickey’s arm. He feels like this belongs to him and he to it.

//

"You can stay at mine."

Mickey stares straight ahead into the night, his nose no longer bleeding, not letting Ian touch him. He texted Ian ‘dugouts’ and nothing else and Ian came running and saw the blood and the clenched hands and the dull eyes.

Mickey shakes his head and Ian tries to touch him again only for to Mickey flinch away.

They stay there for the rest of the night, numb and staring and Ian feeling helpless.

//

Mickey tells him to fuck off but Ian can’t stay away. He’s stupid and reckless and when he’s with Mickey it feels alright.

//

"You’re so afraid."

They’re lying in bed, Mickey’s back pressed against Ian’s chest and the grey light and quiet surround them.

"Not fucking afraid of anything." Mickey’s voice is rough and he tenses a bit but Ian tightens his arm around his middle. Ian knows what he’s thinking. That he’s calling out a weakness, that he’s calling him a coward. Ian strokes his stomach.

"You’re afraid I’m gonna break you. That you might let me."

Mickey’s silent and tense and Ian mouths at the back of his neck. Eventually Mickey relaxes, runs his fingers over Ian’s. Says, “You’re an ass.”

Ian smiles.

//

Mickey tells him once.

They’re drunk and he tells him about the bruises on his ribs and the blood under his fingernails and how his dad hates him for shit he doesn’t even know about.

"That’s my sad as fuck story alright," Mickey tries to brush it away but he shakes a little so Ian drags him closer.

Ian’s hand is in Mickey’s, twisting slowly and gently and he’s drunk enough to find it fascinating, watching his fingers move with Mickey’s, through Mickey’s, against Mickey’s. How the shadows in Mickey’s room dance across their skin. His long fingers, Mickey’s shorter ones, his freckles, Mickey’s tattoos. His eyes blur and their hands almost meld together, almost look like one.

"I’m in love with you," he slurs into Mickey’s hair and Mickey doesn’t move, doesn’t snort, doesn’t do anything but stare with wide eyes, breathing wetly against his neck.

"Shit," he says and he feels Mickey smile against his skin. He thinks he should take it back, take back the name, the want, the thing in his chest that leads him directly to Mickey Milkovich every time.

Mickey presses a kiss against his throat, kind of slumps against him, his hand still in Ian’s.

Ian doesn’t move for the rest of the night.

//

"Use your fucking eyes Gallagher."

It’s been a week of silent texts and no visits and a week of Lip watching him with an ‘I told you so’ look on his face and ‘why didn’t you listen, it’s not worth it’. He’s trying to speak from experience. They put their hearts in the hands of people who don’t know how to not break things. But Ian never listens, he’s only got himself and his head and his gut to listen to. This thing inside of him that beats hard and changes with every move Mickey makes. Broken or not.

Mickey’s fingertips are warm against his arm and Ian looks at him. Sees the open struggle on Mickey’s face and realizes they’ve broken each other. They did it a long time ago without even noticing.

"Shit," Mickey breathes out and he pulls Ian down and presses his mouth tightly to Ian’s.

Ian kisses him back and holds him and thinks maybe Mickey’s like him. Too scared to give something a name but wanting it all the same.

Ian opens his eyes and sees blue. Breathes in, feels his heart pound and everything is different again.


End file.
